


A Thousand Times Over

by PotionChemist, smithandbarrowman



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/M, Forced Marriage, Molly Weasley Bashing, Ron Weasley Bashing, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:21:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24626167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionChemist/pseuds/PotionChemist, https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithandbarrowman/pseuds/smithandbarrowman
Summary: When Hermione Granger is forced to marry a man who is (almost) a complete stranger and start reproducing, she is furious. Her anger falls on deaf ears and the marriage she wants no part of proceeds. But the man she refuses to allow into her bed is not the man she expected.  The year is almost up. Has her pride ruined any chances of her being happy?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Charlie Weasley
Comments: 162
Kudos: 494





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LaBelladoneX](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaBelladoneX/gifts).



> Happy Birthday to our wonderful friend, LaBelladoneX! We love you to pieces!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to coyg_81 for amazing Alpha and aesthetic work, TriDogMom for giving this a pre-read, and BreathOfThePhoenix for betaing!

“I hate the Ministry. They have no right to do this!”

Hermione was staring at the owl that had landed on her windowsill. The parchment it carried was tied with a blue Ministry ribbon and stamped with its seal. She scowled at it, plans of how she could get out of this debacle already forming inside her head. 

“Oh, come on,” Pansy encouraged. “How bad could it be?”

“Seamus Finnigan.” 

Pansy cringed. “Yeah. Okay, that wouldn’t be ideal.”

The owl hooted and tapped its beak on the glass. Hermione simply stared at it, refusing to budge from her seat. Pansy sighed, standing and crossing the room. 

“It won’t be him,” she assured her. “There’s no way they would do that. Look at what happened with me.”

“This is true,” Hermione conceded. “But I’ve done nothing they’ve wanted me to. They’ll use this as revenge.”

“Highly unlikely,” Pansy said, opening the window and removing the parchment. She gave the owl a treat and watched as it took flight. “You’re the Golden Girl. There’s no way they’ll upset you. They know what you’re capable of.”

“Be that as it may, they’re not happy that I fought this ridiculous law at every turn. I mean, what did they think? That we’d just fight a war and then settle down with the most convenient person to start repopulating?”

“I think that’s what the hope was. We had a couple of great love stories come out of the war,” Pansy laughed. “The lone Weasley daughter and Harry Potter — officially bringing him into their family — and the youngest Weasley son capturing the heart of the Brightest Witch of the Age.”

Hermione grabbed a discarded piece of parchment, balled it up, and threw it at her friend. “Fuck off. You know that’s not how it was.”

“ _Now_ I do,” she began, “but I didn’t know it then. Everything seemed to wrap up so perfectly for the lot of you. We all thought you’d be sending your famous redheaded babies off to Hogwarts twelve years later.”

As she spoke, Pansy kept fiddling with the scroll she’d taken from the owl. Hermione knew she’d felt the same anxiety a little over two years ago when she’d received her match the same way. However, Pansy had volunteered for the first round of marriage law pairing, stating that she would’ve likely been stuck with someone her father had chosen anyway.

Somehow, she’d been matched with Harry and, after some initial awkwardness and fighting, they’d found they were well-suited. Actually, Harry and Pansy’s happy relationship was the only thing giving her a tiny bit of hope that things could possibly work between her and whoever the Ministry had matched her with.

Every possibility she’d considered had already been paired off — Dean Thomas, Anthony Goldstein, Blaise Zabini, even Cormac bloody McLaggen — and she wasn’t sure if she’d be stuck with someone significantly older or fresh out of Hogwarts. Either way, she was less than impressed that her life was being dictated by the Ministry. She’d even considered leaving Britain, running away to Bulgaria and asking Viktor to help her hide out.

Staring at the parchment, Hermione replied, “You might as well open it for me. I don’t think I have the stomach to see who they’ve matched me with.”

“Look on the bright side,” Pansy said. “It might be someone you don’t even know. What if it’s a really fit bloke that’s ten years older than us? That wouldn’t be a horrible match. Or Kingsley himself. You could be the Minister’s wife!”

With a glare, Hermione spat, “I’d fucking _Avada_ him on the wedding night. I haven’t forgotten that this whole thing was his bloody idea.”

“Okay, so maybe that was a bad example,” Pansy admitted. “But it could be someone—”

“Just open it,” Hermione interrupted. “I don’t want to discuss it anymore. It’s making me feel worse.”

“I’m sorry, Granger,” Pansy said, and Hermione could hear the sincerity in her voice.

“I know you’re only trying to make me feel better. I just… hate this. The idea of arranged marriages in the Muggle world died out a long time ago. It’s not even thought about in most places,” Hermione explained. 

With a nod, Pansy broke the seal and slowly unrolled the scroll. As she read, her eyes widened. 

“Well, this isn’t so bad,” she stated. 

Stomach churning, Hermione asked, “Who is it?”

“It’s someone a bit older than us, but you know him...” Pansy trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Hermione rose and took the scroll. The name on the betrothal decree was familiar to her, but the man himself was not.

_CHARLIE WEASLEY_

* * *

Hermione stared at the parchment on the table, swirling her third gin and lime in the tumbler. Charlie wasn’t the worst candidate, as Pansy had pointed out repeatedly. But Charlie was a Weasley. And Weasley meant family. And family, to a Weasley, was a truckload of children. 

Children she had no desire to have.

It was why she and Ron split. She wasn’t opposed to marriage, but she’d never had the desire to have a child, let alone the Quidditch team Ron wanted. 

But now it seemed her fate was sealed. The Ministry had decreed this law and, as much as she had fought against it, it seemed airtight. The masses were expected to just bend to the will of the Ministry. It was disgusting and archaic, and she’d made her opinion about it known. She’d ranted at Kingsley Shacklebolt every chance she could, telling him on one occasion he could shove his marriage law up his sexist male arse. 

_Kingsley Shacklebolt,_ she had professed loudly, _would go down in history as the worst Minister of Magic the wizarding world had ever known. And the members of the Wizengamot who voted to pass this law would share the same fate._

But of course, her words were ignored. Very few people understood why she was so opposed. The pairings matched by the Ministry had a 98% success rate so far. 

It had made her shudder. 

People were _forced_ to be happy — it wasn’t a success. Azkaban or being stripped of your magic were the alternatives. Happiness and success were just a result of being threatened. 

It wasn’t real. 

And now she was supposed to be _happy_ with Charlie. 

Charlie, whom she’d met just a handful of times. And those times he was nothing more than polite to his youngest brother’s friends. 

Charlie lived in Romania. 

Charlie worked with dragons.

Charlie was a Weasley.

That was her entire knowledge of him. 

And her history — albeit short lived — with Ronald was bound to cause problems. She’d rejected him and, in doing so, had earned the ire of the family. Most of them were polite, but the strained relationship would be awkward if she had to spend any time with them. But that was something, she supposed, she could easily avoid. 

She had no intentions of spending any time with Charlie, so the rest of the Weasleys wouldn’t be in her life any more than they currently were. 

* * *

  
  


The next morning, Hermione stormed the Ministry. 

Overnight, she’d gone back and forth between furious and terrified. How could the Ministry just take away her freedom of choice and tell her she had to get pregnant? With a man of their choosing? It was her body — her life — at risk if she had a magical pregnancy. As her mind raced, her temper grew exponentially. 

Her heels clicked along the stone floors, the rhythm of her gait much faster than normal. Seeing who her match was had been the straw that broke the thestral’s back and she was ready to truly rage at Kingsley fucking Shacklebolt.

When his assistant saw her coming, he paled. “Ms G-Granger,” he greeted. “How c-can I help you t-today?”

“Drop the act,” she said, her voice filled with anger. “I guarantee Kingsley warned you I’d be coming today. You know why I want to see him, and he does, too. Tell him to get his arse out here or let me in if he doesn’t want me to make a scene that Rita Skeeter will write about for weeks.”

The young wizard nodded and disappeared into Kingsley’s office, not putting up even the smallest argument.

A few minutes later, he re-entered the room followed by the Minister himself.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Hermione?” Kingsley asked.

With a scoff, she strode past him and into his office. She heard him sigh and wanted to scream. She wasn’t being a petulant child or an overly emotional woman. No, this law was going to change her whole fucking life, and she felt like no one cared.

Actually, she was certain no one cared — if they had, they would’ve listened to her months ago when she started fighting the marriage law.

When Kingsley entered the office and closed the door behind him, Hermione glared at him.

“I fully intend to listen to whatever you have to say, Hermione, but it’s not going to change anything,” he began. “This is what’s best for the wizarding community as a whole. We could die out if there aren’t more magical babies born in the next five to ten years.”

“Oh, I’ve seen your factsheet and figures, _Minister_ . I’m well aware of what you _think_ might happen,” she replied bitterly. “Do you not realise we just finished fighting a war about five years ago? That we’re all still dealing with trauma and not exactly ready to settle down and have babies?”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Kingsley said, “Of course I remember. I was right in the thick of things, fighting and trying to save the world every bit as much as you and Potter were. I don’t want to see the world we fought to save just disappear—”

“It wouldn’t just disappear! There are witches and wizards all over the world! We’re not an endangered species, for Merlin’s sake!” she interrupted, seething. “You’re violating human rights with this law, Kingsley. I don’t care what you think is right. I care that I’m going to be forced to marry a man that I barely know and have sex with him. I care that you didn’t even give people a chance to recover. I care that you’re taking girls who are just out of Hogwarts and forcing them into a lifelong commitment.”

“Seventeen is the coming of age—”

Hermione held her hand up. “No. There are plenty of girls who are not ready to have sex at that age, Kingsley. Nevermind be mothers. Do not even try to justify that part of it to me.”

“Plenty of women do it with no issues,” he stated.

“I didn’t say it was impossible. I said that not everyone is ready then!” 

Looking down at her, Kingsley asked, “So when do you think everyone is ready? Give me an age and we can discuss it.”

“There is no right age! Some people will never be ready. Some people don’t _ever_ want to have children, and it should be their choice!” she bit back, her eyes welling with tears.

He just stared at her, clearly uncomfortable.

“What about girls who want to get a mastery? Or play professional Quidditch? Or become Healers? You know that magical pregnancy is dangerous. You’re stripping young women of their dreams in order for them to ‘repopulate’ this world because your generation failed ours.”

“They can do both. There are plenty of people who have,” he replied.

Hermione scoffed. “Can you see a pregnant woman chasing a Quaffle? Or working a 24 hour shift at St Mungo’s?”

“The children will also have fathers—”

“I understand that, but the father won’t be the one to go through the fucking pregnancy! And to place a three child minimum on people — you’re taking at least five years away from the witch! 120 weeks of pregnancy, plus the waiting periods and caring for newborns in between!”

Kingsley sighed. “Do you honestly think I hadn’t considered those things? Do you think we’re matching couples at random?”

“I don’t see how else—”

“Stop!” Kingsley ordered, his voice growing louder. “I’m personally looking at the match data for people. I’m looking into finding daycare centres so that witches can still work if they choose to. I’m doing the best I can, and you’re so self-centred that you don’t even realise that you’ve come here to take up my valuable time to debate things I’ve been struggling with internally for years!”

“Why aren’t you married, Minister?” Hermione asked. “Or, I suppose the better question is when will you be getting married? I’m assuming you’re going to be following your own law.”

“I will be, as soon as I’m matched. This isn’t optional, Hermione. When Charlie Weasley gets back from Romania — which I’m told will be within the month — you will marry him, and you will stop fighting this law,” he said. “There is nothing to be done about it. You are wasting both our time.”

With a final glare, Hermione took the last word. “I will _never_ stop fighting this, Kingsley. I promise you this law will be repealed if it’s the last thing I do.”

* * *

  
  
When Hermione stepped out into Muggle London, she felt instantly freer, like the magical world had disappeared altogether. Sometimes, she wished that it would — her Muggle life had certainly been a lot simpler than the one she had now. She wasn’t stopped on the streets or asked for autographs and photos in the Muggle world, and she preferred it that way. Whenever she wanted to go out for a meal in wizarding Britain, she had to either book a private room or alter her appearance in some way. It was tiresome.

After meeting with Kingsley, she needed a pick-me-up, so she headed to her favourite coffee shop and ordered a coconut latte. She had nearly another hour before she needed to be at work, so she sat down at one of the small tables and pulled her book out, hoping some light reading would help calm her temper.

As she turned the pages, devouring the words, she relaxed. Her shoulders were no longer creeping towards her ears and her heart rate had slowed, even with the caffeine working its way through her veins. She checked her watch every so often, knowing that she couldn’t be late. At a quarter to nine, she sighed and tucked the book away again, rising to her feet and heading for the door.

On her way out, Hermione discarded the cardboard cup, imagining what her officemate would think of a coffee or tea served in anything less than the finest china. A smile slowly crossed her face when she imagined the scandalised look he would give her for using a cup made out of recycled paper products.

She Apparated to Gringotts, appearing just outside the main doors. Every time she stepped into the bank, she was shocked that they had actually hired her on. After all, she’d broken in and stolen from a high security vault when she was only eighteen years old. And her officemate, well, he didn’t exactly have a clean past, either. Their combined histories made her wonder if the goblins specifically hired witches and wizards who weren’t afraid to get their hands a little dirty when absolutely necessary.

When she strode into their office, Draco looked up. “Morning, Granger. Will the Aurors be coming for you today? I just want to be prepared.”

“Unfortunately, Kingsley’s still alive, so I think we’re safe today,” she replied dryly. “Did you talk to Pansy?”

He nodded. “I did. She warned me you might be a little touchy.”

“Bitch,” Hermione muttered under her breath. “I think I have every right to be more than just a little touchy.”

Shrugging, he said, “At least you weren’t matched with someone my father’s age. There were lots of widowers who signed up for a new wife.”

“And did Pansy tell you who I was matched with, as well?” 

“Nope. Only said that it could’ve been a lot worse.”

Pressing her fingers into her temples, she decided to just get it over with and tell him now. Merlin knew he wouldn’t leave her be until he’d managed to wheedle it out.

“Charlie Weasley,” she said sourly. “I don’t even know him, and I’m going to have to let him knock me up—”

“Woah, Granger. We don’t discuss things like that in this office.” Draco smirked and continued, “That’s for Friday nights in the pub. Now, have you told the Weasel King that you’re marrying his brother yet?”

Hermione groaned. “No. I haven’t really told anyone.”

“Oh, can I be there when you tell him?! I want to see the look on his face when he finds out the woman who turned down his proposal is going to be his newest sister-in-law!” 

“Malfoy, you’re not fucking helping,” she scolded, glaring as he basically giggled with glee. 

He mock-pouted. “Don’t spoil my fun. Katie’s all hormonal and cranky. The baby is making her miserable.”

“Are you sure it’s the baby she’s carrying?” Hermione asked sarcastically. “Or is it the one she married?”

“Funny,” Draco snarked. “I can’t wait until you’re hurling into the toilet every morning and crying whenever you see little booties.”

“That will _never_ be me,” she stated unequivocally. “Don’t we have work to do?”

“Don’t change the subject, Granger. I know you actually want to talk to someone about this.” 

Sighing, she said, “Fine. Yes, I’m going to have to get pregnant, but I’m not going to be happy about it. I guess that’s the big difference between your situation and mine.”

After a moment, Draco took a deep breath. “The best advice I can give you is to go into everything with an open mind. Obviously, Katie and I had a whole bunch of baggage to overcome, what with the way I almost killed her in sixth year, but we’re happy now. We’re incredibly well-suited.”

“What could I possibly have in common with Charlie?” Hermione mused aloud. “For one, he’s at least seven years older than me—”

“Did you already forget the part where I said you could’ve been matched with someone my father’s age?” 

Shuddering, she conceded to him. “Yes, alright, it could be worse in the age department. But he’s been living in _Romania_ for over a decade.”

“Open mind, Granger. Romania could be quite nice. Have you ever been there before?”

“He played Quidditch. I hate Quidditch.”

Draco tapped his fingers on the desk. “I played Quidditch and we get on just fine now. Keep coming up with reasons to hate a man you’ve never really interacted with. I can do this all day.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be _my_ friend?” she asked.

“Listen, I’m not going to lie to you. It’s going to be hard. You’re going to bicker — or, knowing you, have full on duels — over everything while you’re getting to know each other. He’s going to do things that annoy you, like invite the whole bloody Weasley clan to your house or leave his wet towels on the bathroom floor or, Merlin, I don’t know — make weak tea.” A look of disgust crossed Hermione’s face. “But, in the end, you need to remember that you were matched for a reason. There is something that will bring you two together.”

She thought for a minute and he stayed quiet, knowing she needed to process what he’d said.

“What brought you and Katie together?” she finally asked.

Draco smirked. “We are, let’s just say, _very_ compatible in some aspects.”

“You’re a pig, Malfoy.”

* * *

Halfway through the day, there was a knock on the office door. Hermione waved her hand, opening the door for whoever had decided they had a need for an Arithmancer.

Much to her shock, Bill Weasley was standing there, his hair tied back in the same ponytail he’d been wearing it in since she’d met him.

“Hi, Hermione,” he greeted. “Do you have a minute?”

For four wonderful hours, she’d managed to forget all about Charlie and the marriage law, and Draco had remained uncharacteristically silent. All of that came crashing down around her now.

“Weasley, come to check on your newest sister-in-law?”

Bill shook his head. “I think you sometimes forget that I’m not Ron, Malfoy. Your taunting doesn’t bother me at all. I’ve been out of Hogwarts for nearly twenty years now.” Turning to Hermione, he said, “I just wanted to check on you. I know how hard you’ve been fighting this and—”

“I’m fine,” she lied. “And just because I have to get married doesn’t mean that I’ll stop fighting this, either.”

“Come for a walk. I want to talk about Charlie.”

Rising from her seat, Hermione stretched. “Honestly, Bill, I don’t know him. I’ve nothing to say right now.”

“I said that I wanted to talk. You just need to listen.”

Stifling a grin, Draco said, “Good luck with that. Granger seems to be going deaf in her advanced age.”

On her way by, Hermione smacked him in the head before purposefully rumpling his hair. “Fuck off, Malfoy.”

He ran his fingers through his fringe, trying to push it back the way he liked it. “You ruined my hair. You’re dead to me.”

* * *

Bill led her through the halls of Gringotts and out into Diagon Alley. “Charlie’s going to be coming home at the beginning of next week. The Ministry didn’t really give him much time to settle his affairs in Romania and regroup.” He paused, waiting for her to respond, but she had nothing to say. “Mum is having kittens over the whole situation and Ron, well, I’m sure you can imagine.”

Scoffing, Hermione said, “I really don’t give a damn about how anyone else feels right now. Honestly, if I spend my time worrying about how your whole bloody family is going to react—”

“For Godric’s sake, Hermione. Can you please just drop the bitchiness for a few minutes?” Bill scolded, catching her off guard. “This is a shit situation, and I understand that, but Charlie is not Ron. He’s giving up his whole bloody life to move here and be with you. I don’t know if you’ve realised this or not—”

“I didn’t ask him to!” Hermione responded. “I don’t fucking want this. I don’t want to become some baby cannon like your mother!”

When he realised what she’d said, Bill sighed. “Ron did explain why you rejected his proposal, Hermione. We know you don’t want children, and I’m sorry that this is happening to you, but it’s happening to my brother, too. He doesn’t deserve to be treated like shite because you’re having a temper tantrum. I wanted to ask you — nicely — to please give him a chance. Keep an open mind about all of this.”

“I honestly don’t know how,” she admitted. “Bill, I hate this law. I don’t know Charlie from some random Muggle on the street. I’m going to be forced to have sex with him and get pregnant. How am I supposed to keep an open mind about that?”

Bill looked down at her. “Find a way. You’re going to have to be together either way. You’ll feel better if you can at least get to know him and forge a friendship.”

While she knew he was right, she felt like any attempt at friendship was going to be for naught. Running a hand through her curls, Hermione said, “I’m still going to fight the law.”

“I know. I’m just saying… he might surprise you.”


	2. Chapter 2

A knock on the door startled Hermione, despite the fact she’d been expecting it. She’d been pacing her living room for hours, panicked at what was about to happen.

Her house — her home — would no longer just be hers. Her life would no longer just be hers. Everything she’d worked for… it was just gone, erased by an archaic law that she was still fighting against. 

She stared at the door. He was just on the other side. Her husband. Well, he would be her husband at the end of the week. She’d not spoken to him; he’d apparently been busy finishing up at Rodna — the dragon sanctuary in Romania — so this would be their first meeting since the decree and she had no idea what to expect. 

While Bill had explained that Charlie had willingly given up his job to move home for her, she didn’t know how he really felt about it. Did he resent her? Would he be upset with her? Would he expect her to just fall into bed with him because the law mandated her to?

Did he still look the same as he had years ago? Or would he look different? He was significantly older than her, and she wasn’t sure if he’d look it. 

Steeling herself, she opened the door to let him in, not quite meeting his eyes. 

“Come in, Charlie,” she said. 

She watched his weathered boots, but they never crossed the threshold. 

“You could at least look at me, Hermione,” he stated. “I’m not exactly thrilled with the law, but I’m not going to avoid making eye contact with you.”

Raising her chin, she looked at him, though she had debated refusing to just to be defiant. His eyes were blue. Very blue, and very different from Ron’s. That gave her a small amount of comfort. And he still had his hair — also unlike Ron — and thankfully he looked nothing like his younger brother either. 

A large duffle bag was at his feet, a leather satchel was slung across his body. His hands were shoved in the pockets of a dark pair of denim jeans. There was a tear in the knee and the hems were frayed, and his well-worn leather jacket looked like it had seen better days. She was surprised to see that he was wearing a Rammstein t-shirt — one of her favourite bands. 

She hadn’t expected him to know Muggle music.

“I’m… sorry. I just don’t know how to act,” she admitted. “But, if you come in, I’ll give you a tour and we can discuss a few things. For Friday.”

Charlie nodded and stepped forward, brushing against her as he passed. Hermione watched as he took in his surroundings.

“I wasn’t expecting you to have this much space in London,” he began. “Mum and dad made it sound like we’d be sleeping in a tin can.”

“How would they know? It’s not like they’ve ever come over,” Hermione replied. 

He held his hands up. “It wasn’t said to rile you up. I’m just trying to make conversation.” 

“Right. Well, as you can see, we have three things on this level. A sitting area, a dining area, and the kitchen,” Hermione said, trying to move things along without apologising again. “My books take up a good deal of space in the living room, but I can clear some shelves for you. I wasn’t sure what you’d be bringing.”

“On this level?” he asked.

“Yes. I… We have an upper floor, as well. That’s where the bedrooms are.”

She led the way to the staircase that was tucked into the back of the house. As she climbed, she tried to think of something else to say, but nothing came to mind. She was too nervous that she’d keep saying the wrong things.

“How many bedrooms?” 

“Just the two,” she replied as she stepped into the hallway. “The bathroom is straight ahead. It’s the only one, so we’ll have to share.”

“That’s fine. I’ve shared plenty of bathrooms in my time.” Charlie’s eyes bounced between the two other doors. “So which is our bedroom?”

Hermione panicked. “ _Ours_ ? What do you mean, _ours_?” Pointing to the door on the left, she added, “That one is mine, and the other is yours.”

“Until Friday,” he stated. 

“Uh, no. Always.”

Sighing, he carded a hand through his hair. “Fine, Hermione. Whatever. We can be married and lead completely separate lives—”

“That’s not what I’m suggesting!” she interrupted. “I just don’t see why we need to share a bedroom.”

He looked at her incredulously. “Have you forgotten the part about how we have one year to get pregnant? That will require a certain amount of—” 

“No. I’m not getting pregnant. I won’t!” she responded adamantly. “I’m going through with the wedding because I have no choice other than being thrown into Azkaban, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop fighting! They can’t force us to mate—”

“Mate?” Charlie laughed. “Did you really just refer to having sex as mating?”

“Well, what else would it be? We’d only be doing it to get pregnant.”

He started walking towards his room, shaking his head. “It’s a shame that you feel that way, doll. I’m sure I could’ve made it at least a little fun for you.”

Hermione stood at the top of the stairs, frozen and silent, as he walked into his bedroom and closed the door.

Was he trying to flirt with her?

It didn’t make any sense, and she didn’t want to think about it. 

* * *

A few hours later, Charlie came down the stairs and leaned against the wall, waiting for her to speak.

When he didn’t leave, she relented. “What?” 

“I’m sorry for being… presumptuous. I didn’t realise you weren’t going to actively participate in this marriage,” he said.

Hermione took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “It’s fine. We haven’t really talked about anything yet and I didn’t mean for things to get awkward so soon.” Meeting his eyes, she continued. “Charlie, let’s call it what it is. If not for this law, you would still be happily living at Rodna, and I’d be going about my business here. We’ve been forced together and we just don’t fit, and things are only going to get worse once your family is in the mix.”

“What do you mean by that?” 

Closing her book, she set it down on the coffee table and stood. “Your mother hates me. Ron hates me. The rest of your siblings have pretty much taken their side. You’ll see.”

“Bill told me he talked to you at work,” Charlie stated. “I’m sure you must be at least a little friendly with him.”

She shrugged. “I guess, but it’s not like I’m invited to Weasley family dinners or holidays anymore. I was only tolerated because of Ron.”

“So I’m guessing you don’t want to come to dinner at the Burrow with me tonight then?”

With a snort, Hermione said, “No, thank you. I’ll just eat here. Enjoy your time with your family.”

“Can I Floo or Apparate from here?” he asked.

“Of course. I did adjust the wards once you were in the house. You can do either, but Apparating might be better. I’m not sure if your mother still has me blocked off from the Burrow.”

Charlie gaped. “She blocked you out? It’s that bad?”

Nodding, she replied, “Yes, it’s _that_ bad. Be ready for a long lecture about what a horrible shrew I am.”

“I’ll fix it,” he stated. “There’s no reason she should treat you badly just because you didn’t want to marry Ron.”

And with that, he Disapparated.

* * *

He had not fixed it. 

That much was clear when Hermione arrived at the Burrow two days later. Molly glared at her the second she stepped through the Floo and, much to her dismay, Ron was sitting at the dining table.

None of the other Weasleys were there to act as a buffer.

Trying to be kind, she greeted them politely. “Good morning, Molly, Ronald. It’s nice to see you again.”

Ron scoffed but gave no other acknowledgement.

False smile plastered on her face, Molly said, “Hermione, we were so _surprised_ that you were matched with Charlie. It’s such a pity that he’s had to abandon his dream job in Romania for this silly union.”

As she stepped further into the Burrow’s kitchen, she bit her tongue, reminding herself that she would only have to do this for a year. One year. She could get the law repealed in that timeframe.

Or the marriage would be annulled because she sure as hell was _not_ getting pregnant.

“Of course I feel terrible that he’s had to leave Rodna, Molly. I’m not particularly thrilled with this law, either.”

She let out a titter. A fucking titter like she was a teenager in the halls of Hogwarts. “Well, I do think you’re quite lucky to end up with someone like my son. You know, from a good family who will accept you with all your faults.” 

Swallowing her pride, Hermione nodded. “He mentioned that you wanted to go over some things for Friday?”

Again, her future mother-in-law jabbed at her. “Oh, yes! I’m sure you don’t have a single thing planned out. You never were one to think about how the arrangements would affect anyone but yourself.”

_Deep breaths. Take deep breaths. She’s a bitch. Nearly all mother-in-laws are bitches._

Faking a smile, Hermione said, “I was just planning on going to the Ministry for a simple ceremony. There doesn’t need to be a big fuss made.”

“Oh, there should be a bloody fuss,” Ron interjected. “You wouldn’t marry me, but you’ll marry my brother with no problem.”

She ignored him. “Honestly, I’m fine with just doing a quick thing. It’s not like we chose this for ourselves.”

Molly scowled, her distaste evident. “That just won’t do. You’ll have a ceremony and a small reception here, of course. All of my children have been married at the Burrow.”

“Yeah, Lav and I got hitched here. She didn’t think she was too good for us,” Ron added. “And now we’ve got two babies and another on the way.”

At the mention of children, Hermione lost control. “Why are you even here, Ronald? No one else is. I can’t imagine we’ll need your help with anything.”

He stood and moved towards her. “I’m here because I don’t like that you’re going to string my brother along like you did to me—”

Tilting her chin up, she tried to meet his eyes, but her eyes went straight to his receding hairline. _Thank Morgana I don’t have to look up at that while I’m getting shagged._

“Are you joking or are you really that fucking dense? We were forced together by the Ministry!”

“Hermione! Do not use that language in my home!” Molly cried. 

Fury rising, she replied, “I’m sorry, but it needs to be said. He’s being unreasonable! It’s not like I flew to Romania, went on a few dates with Charlie, and decided to marry him!”

Molly’s tone was sickeningly sweet, but her words were not. “Surely you can understand that Ron is worried about Charlie. You did reject Ron after the war, or have you forgotten that?” 

“You know what? No. I don’t have to take this,” Hermione began. “I didn’t choose Charlie. I didn’t choose to get married. I’m being forced into it, and I’m not stringing him along. I have no idea why either of you would think that.”

“Hermione,” Molly simpered. “We know about the law, of course, but Charlie is giving up a lot to do this for you—”

“He is not doing this _for me_. He is doing it because we are required to by law. It’s not some big romantic gesture to be gushed about.” Turning away from both Ron and Molly, she stepped into the Floo. “We will be getting married at the Ministry and having no reception. The three of us can’t even act like civilised adults for a twenty minute conversation, so I won’t subject any of my friends to that.”

* * *

  
  
“We’re not having a wedding at the Burrow,” Hermione hissed when she walked into the living room. “Your mother and brother are absolutely fucking insufferable.”

“What happened?”

“The same thing that always happens!”

Charlie looked at her questioningly.

“Your mother blames me for literally everything, insults me in a polite tone, and tries to show me that Ron is right.” She rolled her eyes. “I won’t let them treat me like that.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” he said cautiously. “So what’s the plan for Friday?”

“We go to the Ministry and do a quick ceremony. It’s not like it’s going to be some big, meaningful event for us.”

With a sigh, he replied, “Okay. If that’s what you want, I’m fine with it. And, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry that my mother and Ron behaved that way. I can try talking to them again—”

Hermione held up a hand. “Don’t bother. It hasn’t helped thus far, and I don’t think they’ll ever forgive me.” After a moment, she added, “But you should go and talk to them. Tell them that it’s all my decision and not to be upset with you. It’s not your fault they hate me.”

He stood, moving towards her like he was going to try to comfort her. She couldn’t bear the thought of it and quickly turned, running up the stairs.

“Hermione?” he called, but she just slammed her bedroom door.

* * *

On Friday morning, Hermione walked down the stairs in a skirt and blouse, dressed like she would be on any normal day at Gringotts. Charlie’s eyes roamed over her, taking in her outfit. He’d traded his jeans in for a pair of black trousers and was wearing a white button-down shirt with no tie.

Hermione would’ve preferred him in his jeans and t-shirt, but he was obviously putting some effort into this day, which was more than she could say for herself. 

Trying to start things off on the right foot, she said, “You look nice.”

“Uh, you do, too,” he replied. “Though you always look nice.”

She forced a smile. “So, shall we head to the Ministry? Get this over with?”

Charlie looked away, trying to hide his grimace, but she’d caught it. She wasn’t sure if he was upset that they were getting married or if it was the way she’d said ‘get this over with’. Either way, she’d already managed to upset him.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he said, though his tone wasn’t as friendly as it had been only seconds ago. “Are we using the Floo or Apparating?”

“Floo will be easier, I think.”

As soon as they stepped out of the grate, Hermione started walking quickly, the way she had when she’d gone to Kingsley’s office the morning after she’d received her letter. Charlie lengthened his strides to keep up with her, though she didn’t really care if he did or not. 

They both knew where they were going, what they were doing. Since there was no way for her to escape it, she just wanted to get it all over with. As fast as humanly possible would be preferable.

“Hermione,” he hissed, his voice almost not carrying far enough. “Can you stop bloody running? I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to break into a jog in here.”

Pausing, she waited for him. Once he was at her side, she went to take another step and he grabbed her arm, pulling her off to the side of the corridor.

“Hey!” she protested. “We need to get this—”

“I know. We need to get it over with.” He rolled his eyes at her, eventually looking down at the floor. “Merlin, how do you walk so fast in those shoes, anyway?”

“Magic,” she quipped. “But seriously, Charlie, I just want to go and do the ceremony before anyone realises why we’re here. Can we please just—”

He sighed. “Yeah, but let’s at least walk in together. You don’t need to arrive fifteen minutes ahead of me. It’s not like there’s anything to prepare.”

“Fine. We can walk together, though we’re only heading to that bank of lifts straight ahead,” she replied, gesturing. “Then it’s the third floor.”

They moved towards the lift, Hermione walking at a normal pace to placate him. There was no conversation, no smiling. Just two people on their way to change their lives, to have their free will taken away by the Ministry, to be turned into breeders.

Her heart started racing at the very thought of a child.

With a  _ ding _ , the lift landed on the entrance level, the doors sliding open slowly. People filtered out and Hermione made her way in, leaning against the back wall. Charlie stood beside her, letting the other three witches stand in front of them.

As the lift doors closed, he looped his arm through hers, making her gape at him. She cast a quiet  _ Muffliato _ and said, “Did you not listen to a single thing I said?”

“You’re freaked out. I can tell,” he stated. “Just hold onto me. It’s nothing more than a simple ceremony and an exchange of rings.”

“You’re not going to make me feel any better about this.” Hermione shifted the brunt of her weight from one foot to the other. “I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to get married. I certainly do not want to get pregnant.”

Charlie nodded. “I’m aware of all that, Hermione. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try to be a decent bloke and make this easier for you in any way I can.” After a pause, he added, “I’m here with you. I… can be your friend, if you let me.”

She didn’t respond. She didn’t know how to, or the right words to say. But she let his arm stay linked with hers, taking the comfort that she didn’t deserve from the small bit of contact.

* * *

Of course, when they arrived at the newly established Department of Marriages there was a bloody line. And a few Weasleys staking out the door.

Arthur and Molly were there, along with Bill and George. When Hermione saw them, she stiffened, but Charlie held onto her arm, not letting her pull away. As soon as they reached the welcoming committee, he said, “What are you doing here?”

“Charlie, darling, we couldn’t miss your wedding,” Molly began. “I know  _ she _ doesn’t want us here, but surely you do.”

Hermione gritted her teeth. “Molly, I never said that, but I would be lying if I said I was excited to see you after the way you treated me earlier this week.”

Leaning close, Charlie whispered, “Let me handle her, doll. I have years of experience.” He turned to Molly. “Mum, I appreciate that you’re here, but this isn’t a typical wedding. There’s no need to make a fuss today.”

Bill looked at Hermione apologetically, his eyes moving to Molly and then rolling exaggeratedly. George was nearly laughing at the uncomfortable situation. Meanwhile, Arthur remained quiet, though it was clear he was still not going to stand up to his bitch of a wife.

“Charlie, your father and I deserve to be here,” Molly stated. “She can’t shut us out just because she doesn’t like us!”

Biting the inside of her cheek, she waited to hear what Charlie’s thoughts were.

“Mum, she didn’t ask me to keep you away. You just assumed that.” Charlie moved his arm, wrapping it around Hermione’s waist. “But I am going to ask you to leave now. You’ve seen us, you’ve insulted Hermione, and you’ve upset us even more.” 

Just to get under Molly’s skin, Hermione leaned into his hold, feeling his hard body against hers. The man was a mass of muscle, his work with the dragons making him fit. And he smelled good, too.

“Charlie,” Arthur began. “Your mother—”

Charlie interrupted. “No. If you’d just come here and Mum hadn’t started the conversation the way she had, I’m sure Hermione would’ve had no problem with all of you staying.” His eyes moved to Molly. “I love you, Mum, but I’m not going to make this more uncomfortable than it already is for us.”

“But Charlie—”

Bill stepped in, wrapping an arm around Molly’s shoulders. “Let’s go, Mum. They’re just going to sign some forms and be given a couple of rings. You’ve seen them. Wish them well and we’ll go.”

Molly didn’t speak. She glared at Hermione and walked away, Bill guiding her along. Arthur and George hadn’t moved yet, and she braced herself for some other kind of joke or insult. 

“Granger, you’ve pissed that woman right the hell off,” George said. “Who knew she loved ickle Ronniekins so much?”

Arthur shook his head. “She’ll come around, Charlie. You know she will.”

Scoffing, Hermione looked away. “It’s been  _ years _ , Arthur. She still hasn’t forgiven me.”

At her words, he sighed. “I know, Hermione. And what’s just happened won’t make it any easier.”

“She needs to learn to behave like an adult,” she said, through with trying to be polite. “Things don’t always work out as planned, and Ron and I wanted very different things from life. I had no desire to have children at age eighteen.”

George reached for her, taking her from Charlie and hugging her. “There’s nothing wrong with that. He shouldn’t have pushed for it. We’d just fought a bloody war.” When he released her, he said, “Now go get hitched, and we’ll see you soon. Dad’s right; now that Charlie’s home, she’ll want to see him. She’ll come around.”

“I’m not going to hold my breath,” Hermione stated. “But thank you, George. And you, Arthur.”

Charlie didn’t reach for her again, though he did open the door to the office and hold it for her. The silence that had fallen between them was nearly oppressive, and Hermione had never felt so claustrophobic as she did in that moment, even though they were in a fairly large room. 

They filled out their forms and sat down in the waiting area.

It felt more like a doctor’s office than a Ministry department, but Hermione tried to focus on calming herself, on slowing her breathing.

Eventually, a woman stepped out and called their names. They both stood and walked over to her, not touching like they had in the halls. She felt the woman’s eyes on them, surveying the situation.

“Ministry match?” she asked.

Charlie nodded, looking uncomfortable.

“Right. Did you bring rings or will you just be using the Ministry provided ones?”

Colour bloomed on Charlie’s cheeks and his lips parted like he was going to speak, but nothing came out. 

Used to Ron’s hang ups about being poor, Hermione said, “Ministry provided. We didn’t bring anything.”

“Okay. Right this way,” she said, leading them into a private room and finishing up the official paperwork.

The ceremony itself lasted less than five minutes, most of which had been spent on charming the Ministry-issued wedding bands, adding spells for fidelity and other nonsense. The second Charlie placed it on her finger, Hermione felt trapped. She wondered if he felt the same, like he was trapped in England because of her, forced to be away from the life he’d loved in Romania.

When they walked out of the office, neither of them spoke. At the lift, Charlie pushed the call button, glancing sideways at her. She couldn’t speak even though she knew she should.

“I did take the day off,” he offered. “Did you want to—”

“No,” she replied quickly. “I mean, I didn’t take the day off. I figured I’d just go into work after the ceremony.”

Charlie nodded. “Okay. I guess I’ll see you when you get home, then?”

“Yeah, I’m not sure when it’ll be, but I’ll obviously see you then.”

Her response was awkward and forced, but there was no way for her to take it back, to fix it. And really, she didn’t need to fix it — he would only be in her life for a year.

She gave him a quick nod and turned away, walking quickly down the hallway, her head lowered, and she didn’t see the heartbreaking disappointment on her new husband’s face. 


	3. Chapter 3

**6 months later…**

“They’re not coming here, Charlie. I thought I’d made that clear.”

Hermione was furious. Charlie had arrived home, covered in lord knew what and smelling like a mountain troll had vomited on him, announcing that Molly and Arthur, and George, Angelina and the kids were coming over for dinner. 

He shrugged. “You don’t have to be here. Go out. Hide upstairs. Go and bitch to Pansy about me.”

“It’s my house. I won’t be kicked out or made to hide! And what I tell Pansy is my business, not yours.” 

“I believe it’s  _ our _ house,” Charlie said calmly, but she could see the tension in the muscles in his neck. “And I’ve not once asked  _ anyone _ over in the six months I’ve lived here. I wouldn’t dare bring any lowly scum into the princess’s castle.” 

“It most certainly isn’t  _ our _ house,” Hermione hissed. “It’s  _ mine _ . I own it. You just live here, and your family is  _ not _ coming over.”

“Wow, there’s the judgemental bitch I’ve come to hate.” Charlie’s eyes flashed and his hands fisted at his sides. “Ron doesn’t realise how lucky he is. He certainly dodged a fucking shrew when you rejected him.” 

“Excuse me?” Hermione tried to match his ire, but he’d startled her with his harsh words. He’d been nothing but polite until now. 

“Do you think this has been easy for me?” Charlie finally snapped, his usual calm demeanour giving way to anger that she couldn’t see he was furious about this as well. “I had to leave my job. A job that I love. A job that was my dream from when I was a child. And I had to come back here and marry you. And what a fucking delight that’s been. Do you think I want this? Do you think I agree with this insanity? I have no desire to repopulate this fucking world. Children terrify me more than a dragon ever could. But you’re too busy blaming me for something I had no control over to see I want this less than you do! I wish this never happened, and believe me when I say I wish I was back in Romania, but this is what my life is now.”

“Charlie, I didn’t mean—”

“I’m sorry you were paired with me, just a lowly dragon keeper. I’m sorry I’m not the rich, intelligent wizard you were dreaming of. But I guess if you can put up with looking at me for six more months, we can have this farce annulled and you can be with someone more of your station.”

“You know I don’t think of you like that,” she said weakly.

“It’s hard to tell, Hermione, what you think. When you’re not yelling at me, you’re ignoring me.” 

“Charlie… I don’t…” She swallowed the heavy lump in her throat, her tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry—”

“Yeah, you’re  _ really _ sorry. Sorry you ended up with a poor, working-class Weasley.” He held up his hand and shook his head. “Don’t worry, I’ll let them know not to come over. And I’ll stay out of your way as much as I can.”

Charlie Disapparated instantly and Hermione’s stomach dropped. Was that what he thought? That she was against this union because he was a Weasley? 

That wasn’t it at all. 

She didn’t care that he was a dragon keeper. In fact, she actually admired him for it. The way he treated the creatures of their world was commendable. So few people cared the way he did, and the wizarding world was all the better for having Charlie Weasley in it. 

It was the law as a whole that was the reason for her anger. Had she not made that clear?

Obviously she hadn’t. 

She pressed her fingers to her eyes, trying to stop the tears, but it was pointless. They fell from her in a flood.

She’d been awful to him. And he’d been nothing but kind and understanding, putting up with her blaming him for everything. Putting up with her tantrums, and her coldness. 

She  _ had _ been a total bitch and he didn’t deserve it. 

Apparating to her bedroom, she collapsed onto her bed and curled into a ball. Her mind was a jumbled mess, her thoughts crashing into each other and not making any sense. Charlie Weasley wasn’t the man for her. They wanted different things, wanted different lives. 

And he wasn’t supposed to be charming and kind and a little rough around the edges. 

And she certainly wasn’t supposed to be falling for him. 

* * *

  
  
  
Charlie sat across from his brother, two empty pint glasses sat between them. Bill signalled the bar for two more and they appeared almost instantly. 

He’d Apparated to Bill’s, and his older brother wasn’t at all surprised to see him on his doorstep. Fleur was equally sympathetic, telling Bill that she would put the girls to bed and that the two men should find somewhere to talk. 

They headed for The Hopping Pot, just outside Diagon Alley, deciding that The Leaky would be too busy for them to just talk. Bill sat and waited for Charlie’s explanation, but it took two full pints before he finally spoke up.

“I’ve spent six months bending over backwards for her. I’ve put up with her shit, with tantrums, with her blaming me, and this was the first time I raised my voice.” 

“You’re sure you’ve tried everything?” Bill asked.

“I don’t know what else to do.” Charlie slid his glass across the table between his hands. “She’s not even open to just talking to me. She doesn’t even want to be in the same room as me.” 

“And how did she react to you yelling at her?”

“She was shocked, I think.” Charlie shrugged. “I didn’t hang around to find out.”

“It’s probably what she needed,” Bill suggested. “Hermione’s brilliant but she can get a little too preoccupied with certain things. And I don’t think she’s ever really had anyone tell her to take a step back and think about what she’s saying.”

Charlie smiled ruefully. “Yeah, I know. It’s what I love most about her. She’s stubborn and determined. But I’m about ready to give up.”

“Are you really ready to give up? Because you’ve been in love with her since she was with Ron.”

“How did that useless twat land her anyway?” Charlie shook his head and laughed. “He had the perfect woman and he fucked it up.”

“Well, his fuck up is your gain,” Bill pointed out.

“ _ Ri-ight _ ,” Charlie drawled. “She hates me because of him. Thinks I want to turn her into Mum and repopulate the Wizarding World on our own.”

“Have you told her your feelings on that matter?”

“She knows now. I pretty much told her she was a selfish bitch and that if she’d given me a chance, I would have told her months ago that I didn’t want kids, either.”

“You know you’d be a great dad,” Bill told him. “Victoire loves her Uncle Char, and I know Dominique will be the same.”

“And I adore them,” Charlie sighed. “And if it was under any other circumstances, Hermione would be the one to change my mind. But this marriage law has fucked me — and any chance I had with her — over.”

“Charlie, I spent some time with her during the war, and while it wasn’t the best chance to get to know her, what I did see was that she isn’t unkind, and she certainly isn’t unfeeling. She is more like you than you can imagine. She wants everything to be fair and just, and this law has thrown her. In her mind, it’s the oppression she fought against during the war.”

Charlie scrubbed his hands over his face. “Between our useless brother and this law, I’m completely fucked.”

“Charlie.” Bill leaned forward and tapped his finger on the table. “Do me a favour and give her one more chance. She might surprise you.”

* * *

Hermione woke feeling drained. Charlie’s words had kept her awake long into the night. The truth of them had stung. She’d been so busy with her indignation, she’d not given any thought to just how much his life had been affected. 

She glanced at the small clock beside her bed. Charlie would have left for work. He’d told her he’d be working all weekend, some problem with a young Welsh Green not wanting to care for her eggs. 

Hermione didn’t miss the irony. And also silently applauded the dragon’s decision to not do what was expected of her. 

She dragged herself out of bed, grateful it was the weekend and she would have hours before she would have to see him again. She was disgusted with herself. She’d treated him like dirt when he’d been the one who had sacrificed everything. She still had her job, her home, her friends. He had nothing, had given up everything when the marriage law demanded he return to England. 

And what had he returned to? 

A raving lunatic who blamed him for the entire situation.

A raving lunatic who was refusing to even be civil to him. 

A raving lunatic who was too self-absorbed to see what he’d given up. 

It was an utter mess. 

She sighed and internally berated herself once more, walking down the hallway to the bathroom.

When she opened the door, she was met with a sight that took her breath away. 

Charlie was most definitely not at work. And good lord, she wasn’t sure where to look. 

His back was to her as he brushed his teeth over the basin, dressed only in a towel slung low around his hips. His shoulders were broad, his back sculpted to perfection and tapering down to his narrow waist. And his tattoo, the one she glimpsed the edges of on several occasions peeking out from beneath his t-shirts, was on show. Covering one entire side of his back and half his arm, the artwork was as intricate as it was beautiful. A large Lig-na-Paiste Wyrm* was wrapped around a Wizarding staff, and it was surrounded by a menagerie of animals that Newt Scamander would be proud of. Niffler, Bowtruckle, Occamy, Erumpent, Diricrawl, Fwooper, Thunderbird, Billywig. And they were only the ones she could see. It was a clear depiction of Charlie’s love of all creatures, not just dragons. 

“Do you like it?”

Charlie’s amused voice startled her. Her eyes had wandered to the tail of the dragon which curled around his hip and disappeared beneath the towel. And the curve of that hip was making it difficult to look away. 

“ _ Y-yes _ ,” she stammered, finally glancing up and catching his eye in the mirror. “The…  _ ah… _ artwork is amazing.”

“It is.” Charlie’s smile was mischievous, the one she’d noticed more times than she cared to admit when she was trying to be mad at him. 

“I..  _ ah… _ thought you were working.” Hermione was struggling to keep his eye. She wanted to look at that towel-covered arse again. 

“I got an owl this morning. The dragon has decided to heat the eggs herself.” Charlie shrugged one shoulder. “Changed her mind, I guess.” 

“Oh.” Hermione twisted her lips nervously, not sure what else to say.

“Is that what you usually sleep in?” Charlie asked, his back was still to her but his eyes wandered downwards in the mirror. 

Mortification took over. She’d not expected to see him and hadn’t bothered with her bathrobe. Instead, she was standing in front of him wearing a lacy pair of French-cut boy leg knickers and a tight-fitting camisole. She may as well have been naked. 

Her face was the temperature of the sun, but instead of running she seemed to be bolted to the floor.

“I like your choice, Hermione.”

“I,  _ ah _ … was…  _ um… _ shower.” Her brain seemed incapable of putting even simple words together. 

“Don’t let me stop you.” Charlie chuckled and turned to face her, running his hand across his jaw. “I’m not quite finished. I just need to shave.”

Despite her mortification, Hermione wanted to tell him not to, that she liked his jaw rough and scruffy. But after his harsh — yet truthful — words the previous night, she had no right to tell him anything. 

“Oh… I’ll come back when you’re done,” she finally managed to say. 

“That’s okay, doll. I’ll just turn my back. I won’t look.” He winked at her and turned around, his eyes found hers reflected in the mirror. “Oh, look at that, there’s a mirror. I guess I’ll just have to close my eyes.”

He smirked and did just that. Standing with his back to her, eyes closed, and making her regret every harsh word she’d ever said to him. 

She wasn’t going to just strip off with him standing there, but she also didn’t want to anger him by making him think she didn’t trust him. Not after their argument, not when he was being so pleasant. 

She turned to the shower and stepped into the stall, undressing out of his line of sight. But she had no idea he was watching her as she dropped first her camisole and then her knickers onto the floor. Closing the door, she aimed the shower away from her and started the water, listening intently while the water heated to make sure he wasn’t moving towards her. 

He was being charming and kind — more than she deserved — but that didn’t mean she wanted him to see her naked. Nor did it mean she wanted to see him in the state she had. But—

“Hey, doll.” Charlie stepped into the shower with her causing her to scream.

“Charlie! What are you doing?” She spun around, keeping her back to him and covering herself with her arms. 

“I hadn’t showered yet. And this way we save water.”

“Charlie!” 

“Hermione.”

“Get out!” She squeezed her eyes shut.  _ This wasn’t happening. She wasn’t naked in the shower with him. He wasn’t— _

_ What  _ was _ he doing? _

“Charlie?” 

“Mmmm?” 

“What are you doing?”

“Showering.”

“Um…” She was at a loss. This was complete insanity. He had been furious with her, and was now naked in this tiny space and not seeming to care at all about what had transpired.

“Excuse me, doll,” he said and his chest bumped her shoulder as he reached past her with one arm to grab the shampoo. His other hand pressed into the space between her shoulder blades, making her breath catch. 

The water was the only sound for several minutes while Charlie washed his hair and Hermione kept her eyes firmly closed. 

“I’m your husband, Hermione.” He moved closer to her, ducking his head under the water. “It’s normal that we’d shower together.”

“Nothing about this is normal.” She curled her shoulders forward, crossing her arms tighter over her chest. “This is the absolute least normal thing of all normal things to ever happen.”

She reached for the glass door, but Charlie gently took her hand in his. She tensed and wrenched it free.

Charlie sighed. “I guess nothing will work with you, will it?”

“Meaning?”

“I’ve tried to be nice, to be friendly. I’ve kept my temper in check, until yesterday. But even yelling at you doesn’t get a reaction. And now, I’m fucking naked in a shower with you, and you’re still giving me nothing. I didn’t think it would be this hard.”

“So you planned this?” She finally looked over her shoulder at him. “You were just going to force yourself on me?”

“Force myself? Are you fucking crazy? What kind of man do you think I am?”

“Sorry, that was uncalled for.” Hermione gave him a small smile. “You’re a good man, Charlie. I didn’t mean that.”

“Please know I would never expect anything of you more than you're willing to give.” He gripped her shoulders and turned her around. She winced and dropped her eyes, gasping quietly in surprise. 

The tattoo on his back continued around his ribs and over his shoulder. A beautiful Thestral curved around his ribs with May 2nd 1998 printed beneath it. Forgetting that she was trying to hide from him, she dropped her hand and traced the number with her fingertip. 

_ Fred _ , she thought and her heart squeezed. 

She followed the line of ink to his chest, where a Phoenix surrounded by starbursts decorated his pec. Hermione smiled at the symbolism. The acceptance of death and the renewer of life. They were beautiful together.

However, another date — June 9th 1992 — accompanied it. A date she didn't recognise. 

“What’s this date?” 

Charlie smiled. “I got my very first pet dragon.”

Hermione frowned. “Pet dragon?”

“Well, he arrived at the Sanctuary on that date, but we discovered  _ he _ was a  _ she _ shortly after.”

“Oh! Norbert. You tamed him… her?” 

“ _ Norberta _ is a sweet girl and as tame as a dragon can be.” Charlie ran his hand through his wet hair. “She’s missing me, though.”

Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly. “I’m so sorry, Charlie. You’ve given up so much.”

“It’s not your fault.” He returned her hug and kissed the top of her head. 

“It’s not your fault either.” Hermione let out a long sigh. “But I’ve been blaming you, and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

“The whole situation is shit.” Charlie held her tighter.

“Not for Kingsley. He’ll get to pick whomever he wants. If there’s anyone left.”

“Is that what you think?”

Hermione looked up at him, “He’s not married yet, is he?” She tried to keep the snark from her voice but failed. “He’s waiting until the last round of selections, hoping his name doesn’t come up.”

Charlie kissed her forehead. “You know, for the brightest witch, you’re not all that bright.” He paused for effect. “Kingsley is gay.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “What?” 

“He’s probably dreading this more than you. More than anyone. He has to be paired with someone he’s absolutely not compatible with and have a child with them. This isn’t fair on him or the woman he’s paired with.” 

Hermione closed her eyes and thumped her head against his chest. “I didn’t know. And I’ve been the worst to him.”

Charlie’s hands slid down her wet skin, coming to rest on the small of her back. “I’m sure he understands.”

“No.” She shook her head repeatedly. “I’ve been so awful to him. In fact, I’m surprised they paired me with you.”

“Am I that bad?”

“Charlie, no. I meant, the way I’ve been acting, I’m surprised they didn’t pair me with Filch.” She grimaced and shook her head again. “I was lucky to be paired with you. I mean, look at you. You’re—”

She stopped, her face heating up at his grin.

“I’m what?”

“Nothing. You’re nice, that’s all.”

“And you’re nice too.” Charlie lifted both his hands to her jaw, tilting her face to his. “Do you think we can be  _ nice _ to each other, make the best of this? Is that possible?”

“Yeah,” she whispered, taking in his face for the first time.  _ Really _ taking it in. 

He was so unlike the other Weasleys. Stocky, like the twins, but that was it. His eyes were so blue they seemed to reflect the sky, and she could see the kindness in them. But also the dark edge that Charlie carried so easily. 

He had the Weasley hair, but not the flaming red of the others, it was instead stuck somehow between red and brown. Short through the back and sides, but longer on the top, he wore it in that way that always looked like he’d just been shagged. She actually had imagined gripping it in the throes, but as it was now, wet and plastered to his scalp—

Her thoughts cut clean off.

“We’re naked in the shower, Charlie.”

“That we are, doll.”

“I don’t… I’m not…”

“Hey, now, don’t panic. We’ve been here a while and I’ve not tried anything with you, have I?”

_ No, he hadn’t. Why hadn’t he? _

“Why haven’t you?”

He laughed and kissed the tip of her nose. “You’re not ready, doll. Despite what your body says.”

She looked down, but quickly snapped her head back up. Her nipples had tightened, she was well aware but chose to ignore that fact —  _ the water was cooling down, right?  _ — but it wasn’t  _ her _ reaction that caught her off guard.

Charlie was hard. And long. And thick. And pressed against the washboard that was his stomach. 

“You’re gorgeous, doll, there’s no hiding that. Don’t think I’m not against this marriage law, but to be paired with you?” Charlie leaned in slowly, his lips just a breath from hers. “I never dreamed I would be so lucky.”

He skated his lips across her jaw, then reached behind her and turned off the water — Hermione held back from asking him to let the cold water run for just a minute. He opened the door and stepped out, handing her a towel. 

“Dry off in there, doll. You’ve already ogled me enough.”

Hermione snorted. “You got in here with me, remember?”

“That I did, doll.”

“And what’s with the  _ doll _ ?” She wrapped the towel around her and stepped out of the shower stall. 

“I’m old fashioned,  _ doll _ .” Charlie’s towel was tied around his waist — not at all hiding the effect she’d had on him — and all she wanted to do was tear it off him. He stepped closer to her and flicked a wet strand of hair over her shoulder. “And if you’ll let me, I’ll show you just how an old fashioned gentleman should treat you.”

* * *

  
  
“Hey,” Hermione said and Charlie glanced up, smiling.

“Good morning, doll.” He slid a plate across the counter. “Toast, browned to perfection, just how you like it.”

“You don’t have to make breakfast for me.” She sat on one of the barstools and reached for the butter and jam. 

“I promised you I’d be a gentleman. And a gentleman makes breakfast on Sunday mornings.” 

“You make breakfast for me every morning.”

He smiled and poured boiling water into the mugs in front of him, the Yorkshire Gold tags hanging over the sides indicating he knew which was her favourite tea. 

The toaster popped up, and he tossed the slices onto a plate before rounding the counter to sit beside her.

“The tea’ll be a few minutes. Nothing worse than a weak brew.”

“No, nothing worse,” she murmured. Toast and tea every morning. It was a simple gesture, but it was more than she even knew about him. He’d been observant of her, had learned things about her — other than her being a bitch — and she’d done little more than see him as a Weasley. 

It had been a month since the shower incident — as she was calling it — and every morning since, breakfast was ready for her when she came down the stairs. But breakfast had only been a small part of it. 

They’d started talking — well, she’d  _ started _ talking — and they discovered just how alike they were. Both were advocates for the rights of those creatures considered lesser beings. Both loved reading and Muggle metal music. Rammstein his favourite, Disturbed hers. 

They’d also talked about the marriage law.

Charlie had shocked her when he told her he didn’t want children. He’d laughed at her assumption that being a Weasley meant huge families. He’d explained it wasn’t the Weasleys that produced hordes of children — it was the Prewetts, his mother’s side. And Ron and Percy were the only ones who wanted big families. He would have been happy with his dragons and nothing more. 

And he’d also lived up to his promise of being a gentleman, and she hadn’t missed the way his version of  _ gentleman _ was simply a giant act to win her over. 

And he was succeeding. 

Cooking for her was only the start. He’d taken her to see the magical creatures he now cared for. The tiny Puffskeins had won her heart, but Crookshanks would never allow one in the house — although, more often than not, she’d find her half-kneazle cat curled up on Charlie’s lap. 

He’d taken her to pubs, to cafes, to dinner at restaurants she didn’t even know existed. They saw bands play — some old ones she loved and some new ones she’d never heard of — they went to Muggle museums and libraries. He took her to eclectic little shops to find trinkets and oddities she’d pointed out in books she was reading. 

But most surprising of all, Charlie had a motorbike. 

Like his father, his love of Muggle transport had gotten him in trouble with his mother on many occasions, but he had refused to give it up. Unable to hide it at the Sanctuary, he’d kept it hidden in storage, taking it out on the rare occasions he was home. Bill and Arthur both knew of its existence, but that was it. Percy would have him arrested. Molly would screech at him until he got rid of it. And Ron would insist on ‘giving it a try’ and demolishing it. 

He’d taken her out on it several times. She’d been wary at first — not only of the bike, but of the fact she’d have to hold onto him — but much to her surprise, she loved it almost as much as he did. 

But there had been so much about him that surprised her. And she hated herself for wasting so much time and not giving him a chance when he first walked through her door.

“Everything okay?”

“I’m so sorry, Charlie.” 

“You already apologised. Several times.”

“I don’t think I can ever apologise enough.”

“You have and now you need to stop,” he assured her for the thousandth time. “But I don’t think that’s what’s bothering you.”

“We’re getting along pretty well.” She pushed her toast around her plate, unable to really tell him what she was thinking. 

“We are,” he agreed. “Does that surprise you?”

“A little. I was expecting to just carry on hating you and then after a year being lumped with someone else that I refused to have a baby with.”

“Is that really the problem? The baby thing?”

“No, it’s everything. This whole law is wrong. No one should be forced into marriage or having children. I mean, imagine being one of those children. Born not out of love but necessity.”

“True, but not all those couples are unhappy. Harry and Pansy are very much in love, as are Ginny and Oliver. And of course there’s Ron.”

Hermione let out a small giggle. “Round one Ronald.”

Charlie snorted. “Jumped at the chance. Mum said he was eager to help. I’d say desperate to get laid.”

“Charlie!” Hermione pressed her fingers to her mouth, stopping her laughter. 

“What?” Charlie gave her his best innocent face. “My brother thought his fame would make him a king of sorts. I think he was very disappointed when it didn’t. This marriage law worked out well for him. He already has three kids.”

“I guess. But it’s still wrong.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Would you have chosen me if not for the law?”

He didn’t hesitate. 

“A thousand times over, doll.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Lig-Na-Paiste, an Irish dragon that dwelt in a forest pool near the headwaters of the Owenreagh River.


	4. Chapter 4

“Come on, doll. Tell me.” Charlie was grinning at her, anticipation plastered all over his face. 

It had been a week since Charlie’s bombshell. She’d had no idea how to even respond to him, but he’d not allowed her to dwell on it. In fact, he’d acted like he hadn’t said it. 

_A thousand times over._

She didn’t understand. This had been forced on him. She had been forced on him. He wasn’t supposed to want her. 

And she wasn’t supposed to want him. 

But now he was cooking dinner for them again. She was perched on a stool on the opposite side of the counter, drinking wine and enjoying the view 

“Charlie, no. It’s not… proper.” Hermione winced. “And he’s your brother.” 

“Proper?” Charlie laughed. “When have you ever been proper? Your opinion on everything is shared regularly.”

She stared at him, her lips pursed. He wanted to know about her and Ron. He certainly knew they had done more than kiss, but she truly didn’t want to tell him. 

“I’ll let you see my tattoo again.” He winked and her face glowed. He’d learned quickly that the sight of his naked torso drove her to some fairly dirty thoughts and he made the most of it. “Tell me. The reward is definitely worth it.”

He tugged on the hem of his t-shirt and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

When she still remained silent he frowned. “How bad could it have been?

“Two minutes,” she finally whispered. 

Charlie almost choked. “Two minutes? Two? That’s it?”

Hermione nodded and held up two fingers. “One. Two. Every single time.”

“Fucking hell!” He stared at her in shock. “Let me assure you, not all Weasleys are as inadequate as my youngest brother. Two minutes. He needs a good talking to.”

“Not sure it’d help.” Hermione shrugged one shoulder and grinned. “It was always good for him.”

“I feel I should apologise. To you and Lavender. You got away, thank Merlin, but that poor woman is stuck with him.”

“Pfft,” Hermione laughed. “Lavender’s been chasing him for years. Two minutes would be like she’s won the jackpot.”

“Two minutes.” Charlie let out a low whistle. “That’s embarrassing.” 

“I guess, but it was only a few times and I made him wait anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“We were both only eighteen when we got together. I refused to have sex then. I wasn’t ready. And it wasn’t until a few months before we split that we actually did. And honestly, I didn’t—”

She stopped, her cheeks flaming and she dropped her gaze. She shouldn’t be talking about this with him. 

“You didn’t…?”

“I can’t tell you, Charlie. It wouldn’t be fair to Ron.”

“Screw fair!” Charlie exclaimed. “If my douche of a brother thinks two minutes is good sex, he deserves to be ridiculed.”

“No, it wasn’t that. It was… I was terrified he would get me pregnant. He was adamant he wanted at least five children, and I thought he’d do something to any potions I’d take, so I took a Muggle contraceptive. He didn’t care about me and what I wanted, and I didn’t trust him, Charlie. That’s the biggest reason I split with him.”

“Doll, I had no idea.” Charlie rounded the counter and took both of her hands, lifting them to his lips and kissing her fingers. 

“No one did.” She sighed. “Pansy knows now, but that’s it. He’s still friends with Harry and I didn’t want to put him in the middle of us, so I just said nothing. Let everyone believe I didn’t want kids with him.”

“So… you do want kids? Just not with him?”

She shook her head. “No, I’ve never wanted them. I don’t know anything about babies and children, but…”

“But what?” 

Hermione saw the glimmer of hope in his eyes. They’d been getting along so well, and if she was being truthful, she had fallen completely under his charms. 

“Charlie… this... you and me.” Her eyes filled with tears and his heart stuttered with the fear of yet another rejection. But he had it wrong. “For us to stay together, we have to have a baby.”

She noted the bob in his throat as he swallowed, saw the hope in his eyes turn to disbelief.

“Are you saying…?”

“We only have four months left to get pregnant and I don’t want to lose you. I couldn’t stand it. I want to be with you, Charlie. I don’t want anyone else.”

“ _Aww, doll._ I’ve been waiting to hear that.” 

He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and she leaned in to meet him, flinging her arms around his neck. Their mouths collided, two opposing forces finally meeting and neither could stop the impact. 

And it was a kiss that was like their last, not their first. Raw, wild, consumed with everything they had long held back. His hands found the back of her head, holding her in place and leaving no doubt who was in control. 

He pulled her from her seat, dragging her against him and engulfing her in the warmth of his body. And in that one single moment, she knew with absolute certainty Charlie’s feelings extended past the marriage law. 

His mouth was hot, his tongue tangling with hers, searching, exploring. The scratch of his stubble caused tingles across her skin, the press of his fingertips to her hips, the touch of his thighs against hers. She was caught in a storm, and the only thing anchoring her was him.

A low groan rumbled in the back of his throat and he pulled back. 

“Doll, is this what you want?” He was breathless. “Are you sure?”

Her breath was burning in her lungs and her lips felt bruised from the pressure of his kiss. Her body ached and a deep pulse began to radiate low in her stomach. Hermione traced her finger over his lip as she stared up at him. His pupils were dilated, desire flaring his nostrils. He wanted this, wanted her.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I want this.”

He reached for his wand and cast a stasis charm over the kitchen, then Apparated them to the hallway upstairs. “Your room or mine?”

She took his hand and walked them towards her room. She stopped outside her door and pushed it open. “ _Our_ room.” 

“I like the sound of that.” A wicked grin spread across his face as he kissed her.

They crossed the threshold, their lips still joined, and Charlie kicked the door closed. They stumbled into the room, bumping into the dresser, the side table, before tumbling onto the bed. Charlie braced himself over her, settling between her thighs. 

“I . . . I want to feel you, Charlie. I want to feel everything.” 

“You’ll feel me, doll. I’ll make you feel me for days.” 

He crushed his mouth to hers and ground his hips hard against her, the friction of her jeans pressing on her clit turning her mind blank.   
  
He wound her hair around his fist, using it to tilt her head and deepened the kiss. She groaned as he sucked on her tongue and continued the slow grind between her thighs. She’d never been so turned on in her life. And they were still fully clothed. 

He broke the kiss and pulled back enough so that he could look into her eyes. His breathing was heavy, his face hazy with lust as he studied her. 

“I’ve fantasised about being inside of you since you opened your front door.”

“But I’ve been so horrid to you.”

He smirked. “Well, that was a whole different fantasy. I wanted to bend you over and spank your arse numerous times.” 

“Maybe you should have,” she said cheekily. “We could have been doing this sooner.”

Charlie groaned. “Don’t say that, doll. You’ve no idea how many times I wanked with you inside my head.”

“Well, we have plenty of time to make up for it.” She slid her hand under his t-shirt and felt the hard muscles of his stomach. “And Charlie?”

“Yes?”

“I stopped taking any contraception a month ago.”

Her shirt was gone in seconds, torn from her body and flung across the room. He moved quickly down her body, unfastening her jeans and tugging them down her legs, growling in frustration when they caught on her shoes.

“Fuck,” he cursed, but his frustration turned to surprise when she clicked her fingers, vanishing both his and her clothes. 

“I hope you don’t mind.”

He shook his head. “What’s to mind?”

His eyes were on her chest, and her nipples tightened under his gaze. Her skin heated as his eyes slowly moved lower, landing on the drenched skin between her thighs. 

“Charlie?”

He held up his hand. “Let me look at you. I’ve waited… so long.”

He took her in, the usual warmth in his vivid blue eyes had become something more intense. A deep need seemed to consume him, and she was sure if she wasn’t already naked, the desire in his gaze would have stripped her bare. 

Splaying his fingers over the insides of her thighs, he slowly skimmed his hands up her body, the rough calluses on his hands teasing over her and sending sparks of pleasure skittering across her skin. She sucked in a breath as his hands ventured higher, his eyes directly on hers as he covered her breasts. 

A whimper slipped out of her. His hands were firm, possessive, cupping and kneading, thumbs circling each nipple. She couldn’t help but writhe under his touch, digging her fingers into his forearms and arching up into his hands. 

“You’re a dream, doll.” His voice was rough, a thick growl that had begun deep in his chest. 

His head dipped and he sucked one nipple — hard — and tugged the aching bud between his teeth. Hermione was struggling not to completely lose herself at the simplest of touches. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not with Charlie. But every touch, every scrape of teeth, every squeeze of his hands, had her coming more and more undone. 

Hermione gasped when she felt his knuckle brush against the tender flesh between her thighs. His fingers slipped through her, exploring, gliding lower to where she knew she was wet. Dripping wet. 

“When was the last time anyone tasted you?” Charlie lifted his head up and his eyes locked on hers. 

“You’ll be the first.”

“You’re serious?” 

She nodded at his question and her pussy twinged as she imagined his mouth on her. 

“Aww, doll.” He kissed her softly. “You’ve missed out.”

He moved down her body, teasing her once again, pulling her hardened, tingling nipple into his mouth. Licking and kissing his way down her stomach, Charlie murmured quietly against her skin and Hermione closed her eyes, already trembling, already close. His fingers didn’t stop, circling her clit and sliding between her folds, his mouth hot and wet as he pressed kisses across her hips. 

“Oh god…” Her muscles tensed, and a heavy pressure built quickly and swelled inside her. Her hand flew to his head, her hips bucked, and the pressure released. Her orgasm rolled through her, shaking her to her core and sending currents of euphoria through her entire body. 

“Gorgeous,” Charlie said and kissed her abdomen just below her bellybutton. “Are you ready for more?”

Hermione hummed in response. She was completely lost, but she discovered Charlie had only just begun. 

He parted her folds with his thumbs and traced his tongue over her soft core, touching her like he’d known her most intimate place his whole life. 

“Better than I imagined,” Charlie growled into her dripping flesh. “Fucking sweet as sin.”

He kept his tongue circling over her skin. His breath was hot, his movements laced with the need — the lust — that she’d seen in his eyes. 

She squirmed against him, his mouth dominating her with heavy, stroking caresses. His tongue flicked and teased, knowing just where to touch her to set her alight. Hot, wet dips. Shallow licks. Sweet kisses. Sharp grazes with his teeth. He made her writhe in near agony. Made her lift her hips, straining to get closer, to have his mouth give her the pleasure she wanted so desperately to feel. 

Her breath caught when his thumb pressed hard against her clit and his tongue slipped inside her. 

A tremor seized her body and a loud cry ripped out of her. She trembled and her body clenched, her heels digging into his shoulders as she bucked and rode out her climax on his tongue. 

Charlie rubbed his cheek along the inside of her thigh, the rough stubble sending another shockwave through her.

“I could watch you come forever, doll.” He licked a path back up her body. “You’re fucking beautiful when you fall.”

“No one’s ever made me fall like that.” 

“You deserve so much more than you’ve had. I promise I’ll make up for it.”

“I know you will.” She reached between them and slowly ran the tips of her fingers along the hard shaft of his cock. Charlie dropped his eyes to watch as she gently swiped her thumb over the crown, catching several drops of pre-cum from the slit. She brought her thumb to her mouth, sucking the liquid off and Charlie’s nostrils flared. 

“Fucking hell!” He fisted his cock and touched the head to her opening. “You’re mine, doll. Mine. They’re not taking you from me.”

He thrust his hips forward and pushed inside. Her eyes fluttered closed, but Charlie was having none of it. 

“Open, doll. Let me watch your gorgeous face as you take my cock.” Hermione opened her eyes, locking them with his. She spread her legs wide, and he slid in deeper, stretching her body until he was fully encased within her depths. “Fuck. You feel so good.”

She smiled up at him. It had been an age since she’d had sex, and Charlie was so thick and long. “You feel… big.” 

“That’s what a man loves to hear.” He grinned. “If you really want to stroke my ego, you could tell me you’re surprised I fit inside you.”

“Too late for that.” 

“Hmm, it really is.”

Lowering his body over her, he began to move. Long, slow strokes in and out of her, every solid inch of him sliding against her sensitive core. The hard muscles of his stomach flexed against her, the powerful tendons in his back pulled and bunched under her palms with every thrust. 

He was exactly what she had imagined, what she wanted. What she needed. Skin against skin. Being loved and adored. Not because it was decreed, but because it was real. 

She needed to be with him, needed him more than anything in the world. He felt right, felt safe. And beneath his strong body was where she was supposed to be. And the feeling of being possessed. Of being taken. Of being claimed by a man who wanted only her. It was dizzying. Like she was burning up inside. 

She rocked her hips up toward him, needy and urgent. Her pussy ached, wanting his thick cock stretching her, fucking her deeper, harder, faster. And he seemed to understand. 

His hand slid beneath her, holding her hips up to him, and he crashed harder against her. His body moved into hers in waves of brute force, driving into her over and over, reaching places no other man had. 

He kissed her fiercely, then clutched her to him, her name coming in hot breaths against her throat. Hermione cried out, her clit was burning with each thrust of his pubic bone against it. Her hands gripped his hips, riding the rhythm of each hard fuck into her. Her body began to spasm, and a pulsing heat tore through her. She screamed out his name, turning her head to his bicep and gasping for air.

“Don’t look away, doll. Give me your eyes. Look right here.”

She barely registered his words, lost in a haze of heat and muscle and throbbing cock. Sharp convulsions rolled through her and she clamped down hard as he swelled inside her. He dropped his forehead to hers, meeting her eyes.

“Feel me.” His breath was hot as his words left him. “Feel me fill you up.”

He slammed his hips against her again and again, and with a deep growl, his entire body seized, her pussy milking every inch of him as he poured himself into her. 

His weight settled over her, his body still moving, sliding in and out for a long time afterward, as if he couldn’t believe this had been real. He kissed her, telling her over and over how good she felt around him, how beautiful she was, how much he needed her.

Hermione sighed. The moment was more intimate than anything she’d ever experienced. As if they were locked away in their own little bubble, completely protected from the outside world. 

* * *

Charlie’s hands hadn’t stopped moving. A slow circle along her side, down her back, across her hip. They were laying facing each other, staring, touching, trading kisses. Both in slight disbelief of what had just happened. 

“How long was that?” Hermione asked cheekily. “It seemed longer than two minutes.”

Charlie laughed. “Those days are long gone, doll. I’ll give you hours.”

“I’m so stupid,” she sighed. “We could have been doing that months ago. If I hadn’t been so stubborn—”

He cut her off with a kiss. “You were scared, as you should have been. Being married against your will to a complete stranger? That’s not fair on anyone.”

“You weren't a complete stranger. I did know you a little.”

“But not enough to just let me into your bed.” He kissed her again. “And that’s how it should have been.”

She frowned. “But that first day, you asked which was our room.”

“I lived in hope,” he chuckled. “I’ve always lived in hope when it comes to you.”

“Really?”

Charlie shifted closer and twisted a tendril of her hair around his finger. “You’ve no idea how jealous of my brother I was. The relief when you two split… it was…” he smiled. “I wanted to come home immediately. Bill told me to wait, that it was too soon after and Mum would kill me. And then the Marriage Law happened and I wanted to kill Bill. But then your name was on my parchment and I couldn’t believe my luck.”

“Charlie… I don’t know what to say.” 

“You don’t have to say anything.” His hand dropped between them and he flicked his thumb over her nipple. “You just have to let me have my way with you whenever I want.”

“Caveman.”

“Shrew.”

They stared at each other then laughed. Hermione felt freer than she had in months. 

She touched his face, staring into his eyes. “I love you, Charlie Weasley.”

“I love you too, doll.” He kissed her and sat up, slapping her arse. “Now, come on, we need to eat something… well—” he winked at her “—something else.”

“Rude,” she laughed. “I thought you said you were a gentleman, Charlie Weasley.”

“Of course I’m a gentleman,” Charlie said with a wicked grin. “I’m just a different kind of gentleman.”

“What kind is that?”

“The kind women like.”

* * *

“Mrs Weasley.” 

Hermione’s hands balled into fists when she opened the door. Marcus Flint and Marietta Edgecombe had appeared on the doorstep. The Ministry’s Baby Squad was here to split them up.

“Can we come in?

“Do I have a fucking choice?”

“Now, now, Mrs Weasley. There’s no need for that.” Marietta smirked, her enjoyment clear. She was a snitch at school— trying to further herself — so this job was perfect for her. 

“It’s Ms Granger, actually. My husband isn’t an old-fashioned arse who expects women to bend to his will.” 

“Yes, well. Since your husband hasn’t performed his duty, he will be reassigned. As will you.”

“You can certainly try.” Hermione rolled her eyes and allowed them into the house. “Charlie, the… arseholes are here.”

Charlie appeared in the hallway, a look of murder on his face. “I’m not leaving.”

“Well, Mr Weasley, you don’t actually have a choice.” Marcus said with a look that said he thought Charlie pathetic. “You’ve not produced a child or become pregnant in the first year, as the Marriage Law stated, therefore this marriage will be annulled and you will both be reassigned.” 

“Nope. Not happening.” Charlie wrapped his arm around Hermione’s waist. “Hermione is my wife and you won’t be splitting us up.”

“You will be coming with us, Mr Weasley. And we are authorised to annul this marriage today.” Marcus grabbed Charlie’s arm and aimed his wand at the gold band on his finger.

“You can’t annul this marriage!” Hermione yelled. “I’m pregnant.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Charlie was staring at her, his mouth open, his eyes wide. 

Four months they’d had. Four tries. That was it. Her stubbornness had put added pressure on them to conceive. Hermione hadn’t given any thought to the fact pregnancy might be an issue; she’d just assumed sex at the right time would produce a baby. But she’d been wrong. And as the deadline crept closer, the more panicked she became. 

Sex with Charlie was incredible, and the shallow part of her didn’t want to give that up. But also, she’d fallen completely in love with him. And she knew her heart wouldn’t survive if they were forcibly separated. 

But a trip to the Healers that morning confirmed what her body had already told her. She was pregnant. 

She’d just been waiting for the right moment to tell Charlie. 

The two Ministry Officials were looking between each other then back at her, disbelief on their faces. 

“Ms Granger, it’s not wise to lie to the Ministry. It won’t help your situation,” Marcus warned. 

“I’m not lying, yer bollocks!” Hermione snapped. “I’m five weeks pregnant. I was going to tell Charlie tonight, then inform the Ministry tomorrow. I think the father has a right to know before the bureaucrats.”

“So you have proof?” 

Hermione wanted to slap him but instead she smiled sarcastically. “You’re on the baby squad. Surely you know the charm to check.”

He dropped Charlie’s arm and strode over to her, his wand raised and a smug expression on his face. “Happy to prove you’re a liar, Ms Granger.”

Hermione held up her hand, “Just be sure you get this charm right and that you don’t harm my baby. Because if you do, Marcus, you’ll go down in history as the man who killed Hermione Granger’s unborn child. War hero, Hermione Granger. One of the Golden Trio. Brightest Witch of her age.”

His smile faltered and he glanced at his partner, whose expression was as fearful as his own. He lowered his wand; his smugness was back but the fear was still in his eyes. 

“Y-you…” He coughed and tried again. “You have twenty-four hours to inform the Ministry.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said. “And if this news gets out, you two will be scrubbing the rocks at Azkaban with your toothbrushes.”

They both nodded and scampered away quicker than a niffler on the scent of gold. 

“Hermione?”

She smiled at Charlie. “Sorry. I only just found out this morning. And our anniversary isn’t until tomorrow. So I didn’t think they’d—”

Charlie was kissing her before she could finish. She could feel his tears falling onto her cheeks and any fears she had disappeared. 

“You’re having my baby.” Charlie’s voice wavered and his tears continued to fall.

“I’m having your baby, Charlie.” She touched his cheeks, wiping away his tears. “And this wasn’t how I wanted to tell you.”

“I don’t care.” He smiled through his tears. “We can stay together. That’s all that matters.”

“But I got something for you. Stay here.” She disappeared up the stairs, returning seconds later with a brown paper bag tied at the top with a plain white ribbon. “This is for you.”

Charlie took it with trembling hands, pulling the ribbon free and reaching into the bag. Hermione didn’t think he could have been happier, but she was wrong. His face split into the widest smile she had ever seen. 

The tiny pink socks looked even tinier in his big hand. “Pink?” Charlie asked. “A little girl?” 

Hermione nodded, her own tears beginning to wet her cheeks. “It’s one more thing I love about this world. We know already. We’re having a girl.”

Charlie whooped loudly and lifted her from the floor, spinning her around. “My own baby doll.”

Hermione laughed through her tears. “Charlie, I don’t know anything about babies."

“Neither do I, doll.” He stopped spinning and simply held her to him. “But we’re still together, we’ll figure it out.”


	5. Epilogue

Hermione ran her hand over her giant belly, the baby inside was stirring and making her life very uncomfortable. But she knew it wasn’t for much longer. Her due date was three weeks away, and as nervous as she was about the actual birth, she was excited to finally meet their little girl. 

She waddled over to the window, smiling as she looked out. The scenery never ceased to take her breath away. The decision to contact Charlie’s old boss had been the right one. The dragon sanctuary was the perfect place to raise a family. 

She’d contacted Freya shortly after she’d learned she was pregnant, realising just how much Charlie had given up for them. And Freya was more than happy to have him — them — back. Hermione had been sure the woman was almost in tears at the prospect of Charlie Weasley returning to Romania. In fact, she’d been so enthusiastic about it, she’d organised a new cottage to be built where all the families lived, and Charlie had been given a promotion before they’d even arrived. 

Charlie had been completely at a loss when Hermione had informed him. His excitement had been held in check until he was sure she was being serious, then the tears had formed in his eyes and she knew she’d made the right decision.

And now...

She headed outside. They had their own private garden attached to their cottage, and that was where Charlie was now.

“Mummy!” 

Hermione smiled as her daughter ran towards her and she scooped her up. 

“Hey!” Charlie called and rushed towards them both. “She’s too heavy for you.”

“She’s fine, Charlie.” She kissed her daughter’s dirt-streaked cheek. “Isn’t that right, Katie?”

“Uh-huh,” she said with a sharp nod. “Not heavy, Daddy.”

For three and a half years they’d lived at the Sanctuary, and Hermione had never been happier in her life. Kate had been born at the hospital on site not long after their arrival, and a year later, Hermione had begun working in the research department. 

Charlie had taken them both to Venice when Kate was six months old and had proposed properly. He presented her with a cornflower-blue sapphire engagement ring, and a month later in their own garden, they swapped their Ministry issued wedding bands for matching platinum rings. Rings, he told her later, that had been in his pocket at the Ministry ceremony, but he’d been too scared to give to her.

Molly had finally come around and had become quite pleasant to her, but having Kate had been the catalyst. If she wasn’t able to put her anger aside, Charlie had warned his mother, she wouldn’t be welcome to see her granddaughter. So, naturally, Molly decided Kate was more important than holding a grudge. 

Ron, on the other hand, hadn’t been so forgiving and was still absent from their lives.

And her notion of not wanting a child seemed absurd now. So much so, that even when the marriage law was amended and the decree of three children per couple was lifted, she still wanted a sibling for their daughter. 

“Hermione, doll, please.” Charlie had become like a mother hen in the last few weeks, not allowing her to do anything. But he’d been the same with her first pregnancy. He’d doted on her, and now he followed their three-year old around like a shadow.

“I’m pregnant, Charlie. I’m not dying.” Hermione repeated the words that had become a mantra in the last few weeks. “And we love cuddles, don’t we, baby?”

Kate snuggled against her and they both smiled at Charlie. 

“I don’t stand a chance, do I?”

A loud screech had them all glancing up into the sky. 

“Berta!” Kate squealed and squirmed in Hermione’s arms. 

She put her daughter down and laughed as she raced across the grass, her little arms waving above her head; Norberta had come to visit. 

Hermione poked Charlie in the ribs. “You’re surrounded by women, Charlie Weasley. Strong, independent women. Don’t you be going all caveman on me.” 

Charlie rolled his eyes, but smiled and rubbed his hand over her belly. “And little Faye will be no different.” 

“No, I think she’ll be the most determined of us all.” Hermione ran her thumb over the H and the K that he’d had tattooed on his forearm. The third letter would be added in a few weeks. “Are you happy, Charlie?”

“You know I am, doll.” He cupped her face and smiled. “That stupid marriage law gave me more than I could have ever wanted.” 

Hermione ran her hand over the stubble on his jaw. “Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Let us know what you think. xx


End file.
